


Protocols and Procedures for Long Stays on Earth: An Instructional Manual for Wayward Vulcans

by letterstonorah



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:10:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letterstonorah/pseuds/letterstonorah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock looks back and explains what he would've done differently, and what he'd do exactly the same. Teensy amounts of angst. Some explicit, but not particularly kinky, sex. Spock/Uhura and Spock/Uhura only.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protocols and Procedures for Long Stays on Earth: An Instructional Manual for Wayward Vulcans

i.

Allow the neighbourhood children to stroke your cosmos-black hair.

When they inform you they have never felt hair ‘this hard’ or ‘this soft’ or ‘this black’ or ‘this straight’ or ‘this much like doll hair’, you need not let the sudden grief of your difference disorient you, you need not shrivel, you need not vow to ‘make them pay’. You, most importantly, need not say: “I am uncomfortable and wish you to stop,” as that increases their discomfort, and when their discomfort is increased, they are less likely to consider your discomfort. It is logical to stop unpleasant cycles before they begin.

You may not sigh longingly for home. You may not keep salt, red pepper flakes, red curry paste, and a vial of lemon juice in your pocket so that when the evening meal arrives, you are prepared to improve the taste somewhat covertly. You may not inform your aunt that the food is bland and that you only wish to make it more palatable. You may not inform her that in the future you would prefer to do the shopping as well as the cooking. And when she tells you that ‘you are only eleven’, you certainly must not say, ‘and yet I am more adept in the culinary arts.’

When your mother says, “I’m so sorry, Liv, he doesn’t _know_ any better,” and you spend the following evening at the Vulcan Embassy, it would be prudent to make an effort to slip into another dimension, a dimension in which tears do not presently stain your mother’s perfect face, a dimension in which you know that the answer in this instance is to hold her and be held and be close.

If the conditions of the cosmos do not allow for entering an alternate universe, you must absolutely _not_ abandon your mother to her chambers and spend the next several hours in the arboretum with your tricorder. Later, you must not ask her how she is. You must not believe her when she says, “Great.” You must not note the puffy redness of her eyes and lament your failures as a son.

ii.

Years later, after returning to Earth as a professor, the bitterness of youth  tempered by time, you should not treat the human student so unkindly. You should not be intimidated by her brilliance. You should not resent the ease with which she makes friends, or the way she gives and receives soft smiles. You should not be flummoxed by your increased heart rate when she is near or the sudden dryness of your throat when she looks at you with expectant eyes. You should not ignore her hand when she raises it in class. You should not give her a grade of 88% when she deserves 99% (100% would be illogical, as it implies perfection, and, after all, no one is perfect, not even her. And though she may be perfect to you, that is a subjective rather than objective measure.).

Meditate for hours, and get nowhere. Lose weight. Gain weight. Fat at first, then muscle. Take up a new sport, or several: kickboxing, boxing, Kung Fu, Capoeira, gymnastics, Jiu-Jitsu, Mok’bara. Compete in an Interplanetary Mixed Martial Arts showcase. Win every fight. Arrive home bruised and sticky and try not to be aware of the fact that you are doing this as a form of self-punishment.

And if after all this she still occupies 87.3% of your thoughts, consider kolinahr. Research what you can. Speak to your father in clipped tones. See a priestess and several elders so they can examine your mind for any weaknesses. When they say, after melds that seem to last hours, “There is nothing wrong with your mind,” please, I beg of you, do not wonder why no one ever told you that as a youth, as it will get you nowhere, and will only make the bitterness return.

iii.

When she needs an advisor for her second year honours project and you are the only one qualified, obviously, you must accept. Invite her to work in your office. Offer her ‘snacks’ and a beverage. Tell her that you like the weather. Try to mediate your two imposing desires: to touch her, and to listen to her speak. Ask her how her research ‘is going.’

At the point she says, ‘Sir, you don’t have to pretend to like me. It’s really all right.”

Do not, do not, do _not_ say, “Okay.”

Do not sit frozen as her face falls.

Do not say nothing as she gathers up her books and leaves, slamming the door behind her.

Do not, later that night, send her this email:

_Cadet,_

_Though I understand humans have a more difficult time regulating emotional responses, I must request that you restrain yourself from such outbursts in the future. I rescheduled several appointments to be able to work with you, and it was inconsiderate for you to leave after only fifteen minutes._

_Peace and Long Life_

Do not watch her with other young men and women and feel jealous. They are unworthy, but so are you.

Do not ‘pine.’

Do not wake up from dreams of her sticky with your own ejaculate. 

iv.

In the event that Mother calls, worried and concerned, do not tell her that you’ve ‘just been a bit distracted,’ as mothers tend to be perceptive creatures, and she will conclude that you are ‘in love.’

It is acceptable to ask: “Does this mean I am to buy her dead plant matter?”

“Based on what you’ve told me, it’s way too late for flowers. You need to communicate with her.”

“Would it be appropriate to propose marriage?”

“Christ, son, no. _No._ Just. No.”

Send the human an email instead, something like this:

_Cadet,_

_You have not been in touch in nine weeks, and I know that the due date for your project is soon approaching. I do not wish your work to suffer because of a lack of faculty guidance._

_You are an exemplary student, and my behaviour has not always expressed that. I wish to rectify this. Should you like to continue working together, I am available._

_Peace and Long Life_

v.

Things will start out ‘rocky.’ You will propose to meet at a coffee shop and she will be hesitant, but eventually agree. You will buy her frivolous coffee beverages filled with cocoa and ice cream. She will eat a fruit, cheese, and bread plate. Then she will eat a brownie, a then she will eat another brownie, then on the third brownie you should understand that she is nervous. It is always unwise to comment on another’s food choices, so do not.

Do not imagine licking the smudge of chocolate off her lips. Do not imagine kissing her face, her neck, biting the skin over her collar bone. Such thoughts would be unproductive and illogical.

Listen. Listen carefully as she describes how her roommate has helped her to design software that charts morphemes and phonemes by rate of appearance in various languages, and that almost every Terran language shares significant construction with an alien species, thus insinuating _First Contact_ came thousands and thousands and thousands rather than one hundred years ago. Watch the radiance of her smile as she explains this. Watch the delicate bones of her fingers as she pushes her padd toward you, opened to graphs and tables. An appropriate response to the question, “It’s crazy, huh?” is “Indeed.”

To catch up on lost time, meet every night. Buy her dinner. Log her favourites and dislikes. Try Thai Iced Tea for her, and say nothing when she’s finished hers, she starts drinking from yours, without asking, her lips on the glass.

This is all in the name of academia. Her work is important. She needs guidance.

Help her with her translations, but do so gently. Avoid such phrases as, “This is wrong,” or “Incomprehensible.” Instead, say things like, “You may want to give that section another look.”

This will all be your mother’s doing. She knows the right words.

vi.

Do not have a ‘heart to heart’ with your father as it will force you to reconsider much of your childhood and you do not have time at the moment for an existential crisis.

Peanut butter is satisfying, nutrient-rich, and calorie dense, but it makes your mouth sticky. It is best followed by a cool, creamy liquid. Milk is appropriate. Almond milk is also suitable.

If invited to an event, do not say, “I do not wish to attend.” Rather, say, “I will look at my schedule.” Then add another event that you would like to do to your schedule at the same time.

Be kind, but be wary.

Try your hardest to understand the difference between “laughing at you” and “laughing with you.” It is very complicated. There is little published material on this phenomenon, so inquiry will only take you so far.

vii.

Understand that dreams of her will be frustrating.

Understand that lust is natural, but disrespect is not, and it is wise to temper your _feelings_.

Do not imagine her mouth and tongue on your penis. Do not imagine your semen inside of her. Do not imagine shoving her thighs open and licking her clitoris. Do not imagine how wet your lips will become. Do not imagine tasting her. Do not imagine flipping over so that she can ride your face and come in your mouth.

These thoughts lead to madness.

viii.

Do buy her a gift after the successful completion of her honours project. Go to an antique shop and have a very complicated conversation with a teenage human girl. Her name will be Helena. She will text her friend and you will pretend not to see the contents of said message, as you know by now that feigning ignorance is polite. The message will say:

_S.O.S. RED ALERT. MAYDAY. HOT VULCAN JUST ENTERED THE BUILDING. I REPEAT. HOT VULCAN JUST ENTERED THE BUILDING. GET YOUR ASS HERE ASAP. INTERNAL COMBUSTION IMMINENT. WILL DIE OF HOTNESS. EARS. OHMYGODS EARS. DID I MENTION HIS EARS????_

At this point, you should say, “Excuse me. I do not wish to disturb you, but are you an employee of this establishment?” knowing very well the answer, but wishing to remind her of her duties.

Startled, Helena will rush to stand, knocking over a hat rack in the process, which in turn knocks into a glass case of antique first edition books, which in turn shatters said glass case.

Do not be alarmed when Helena says, “Jesus fucking fuck.”

Instead, inquire after her well-being. “Have you sustained any injuries?”

“Not physically, no,” says Helena. “Well, not yet. It’ll be a different story entirely when my mother sees what I’ve done.”

Do not smile at the joke, but acknowledge the humour with a nod. 

Dressed in tight-fitting black trousers, a black turtleneck, a cardigan, and a scarf—your hair neatly trimmed—you will find that you are at odds with the discombobulated nature of the shop. Packed shelves of everything ranging from tea sets to lava lamps to old medicine bottles leave little room for the two of them to talk.

At this point, you should brace yourself to experience the phenomenon of the human teenage girl: smart, kind, funny, but generally louder and less restrained than need be. Obviously, they come in a variety of personalities and characters, but there’s a tendency for them to fluctuate between intense enthusiasm and intense indifference. Be prepared to not know what to do. Confusion is normal.

“Ummm, maybe we should go up to the front,” says Helena, tripping over an antique children’s desk as she makes her way to the main lobby of the shop. “If you see something on the floor, it’s okay to just leave it,” Helena says. “We’re not exactly clean freaks, as you can probably tell. My mom embraces entropy.”

This is another good time to say, “Indeed.”

Listen carefully as she begins her spiel.

“Um, so. Welcome to Annabeth’s Vintage Boutique, my name’s Helena, how can I help you?”

Say: “I seek to purchase a gift for an associate. Can you be of assistance?”

“Of course I can help. Are you looking for anything in particular? Maybe you could start by telling me what kind of associate it is?” she asks.

This line of questioning may disorient you. Take heart. She is only attempting to help. Pause, and then answer: “A twenty-one year old human woman.” If unsatisfied with that, add, “a friend.”  Try not to stutter over the inaccuracy of that term.

“Ohhhh,” Helena says, and she will cross her arms over her chest knowingly. Try not to let this disturb you. “A friend, or you know, a _friend?”_

For many years you’ve dealt with the lack of specificity of Federation Standard, and are used to asking for clarification. Do so now.  “I apologise, but I am not as adept at deciphering the nuances of Federation Standard as I should be. Until this moment, I did not realise changing the emphasis of a word in the manner you just did changed its meaning substantially. Please clarify.”

“Oh, you know,” she says.

Of course, you do not know at all.

Helena leans back against the cashier’s desk and starts to explain. “Well, there’s friends that are your friends, like your mates, the sort you go see a holo with whilst throwing popcorn at the couple kissing two rows ahead of you, and then there’s the sort of friends you go see a holo with, but you spend the whole time wishing that the Apocalypse would happen so you’d have an excuse to grab their hand and drag them into the closet and kiss them for seven whole days straight. You know?”

 

“Affirmative. I believe my associate  falls under the second category,”  you should say. Do not shift your eyes  infinitesimally to the right, as it will convey your discomfort. “Not that I wish for the Apocalypse, or to engage in intimate acts with this associate. I simply acknowledge that she nor I would never throw popcorn at another guest during a holo. Process of elimination suggests that the second definition is therefore more appropriate to describe her relationship to me.”

You know this is a lie, a very bad lie. Tell it anyway. It is important every now and again to lie to the self.

“Uh huh,” says Helena. “Okay, how about jewellery? Jewellery is always good.”

Be glad for her prudent suggestion.

“Yes. I have noticed this associate enjoys festive ear-wear.”

When you walk you of the shop with vintage, dangling gold and ruby earrings,  do not worry that you’ve spent way too many credits, as this will exacerbate your already anxious state.

Do not ‘glow’ when she begins to wear these earrings every day.

ix.

Do not balk at the audacity of Cadet James Tiberius Kirk including you in a wildly inappropriate email chain.

_\--------------------------------------------_

**To:** commander spock, hikaru, leonard, gaila,  
 **From:** jim

 **Subject:** DID EDNA JUST WIN THE FRICKIN WICKHAM GRANT FOR HER HONOURS PROJECT?? WHAT THE FUCK WHY WAS I NOT TOLD? I HAD TO FIND THIS SHIT OUT FROM SOME FIRST YEAR PLEBE WITH A GOTDAMN GOATEE? NOT ACCEPTABLE.

            
 _The subject says it all. I feel so corny right now I swear to god I’m about to cry. *slow claps* Why is Edna so consistently amazing? Every time I turn around, there she is, shitting all over my life._

 

______________________________________________

**Reply to all:** commander spock, hikaru, gaila, jim  
 **From:** leonard

 

_Edna…????? The fuck?_

 

______________________________________________

 

 **Reply to all:** hikaru, leonard, gaila, jim  
 **From:** commander spock

 

_I believe that he is referring to Cadet Uhura. It is a “joke.”_

_Regarding your query, Cadet Kirk, the answer is yes. Uhura did, indeed, win the Wickham Grant_. _She only found out herself  forty-nine minutes ago. It is my understanding that she is still on the comm with her mother._

_May I assume that “Edna” has been left out of this message exchange because you are formulating plans for a surprise celebration? Such an endeavour is ill-advised._

 

______________________________________________

**Reply to all:** spock, hikaru, leonard, jim  
 **From:** gaila

 

_ill-advised is my middle name! just tell me when and where, jimmy! and professor spock, you ARE coming. none of that “blah blah blah illogical blah blah blah” business! you were her advisor and you absolutely HAVE to be there. i mean, you don’t HAVE to. but you know. it’d be cool._

 

______________________________________________

**Reply to all:** spock, gaila, leonard, jim  
 **From:** hikaru

 

_Of course he’s coming. Edna will be there._

 

______________________________________________

**Reply to all:** leonard, hikaru, spock, jim  
 **From:** gaila

 _lol, i know right? what was i thinking._  
            
 _anyway, i propose karaoke! and libations!_  
           

______________________________________________

**Reply to all:** gaila, hikaru, leonard, jim  
 **From:** commander spock

 

_“Of course he’s coming. Edna will be there.”_

_“lol, i know right?”_

_Explain._

 

______________________________________________

**Reply to:** spock, hikaru, leonard, gaila  
 **From:** jim

 

_Oh, boy._

 

______________________________________________

Do not waste time wondering if you’ve been too obvious with your affections. You are the least obvious person in the universe. Surmise that they are making an attempt at humour by noting the amount of time you and the cadet have had to spend together to finish her project. As her friends, they have noticed this.

Do not regret the time she invited you out to pizza ‘with the gang’ in order to ‘let off steam’ because ‘all work and no play makes Jack a very dull boy.’  Do not regret that you appreciated the experience. Do not regret that now, these cadets think you are on an informal-email basis. Do not regret anything that brings you closer to her.

x.

When she sits on your office desk in what is colloquially called a ‘summer dress,’ legs dangling, the day before Spring Recess, and she catches the untoward glance you make to her brown thigh, and her breath becomes even, and you step forward, and she licks her lips, and you bury your face in the crook of her neck, which smells like salt and the nutty aroma of shea butter, and you say her name, and she says yours, it is acceptable to remember the first time that you met her, and to linger on her utter perfection: her unparalleled linguistic skill, the brilliance of her mind, her compassion, her laugh. 

If she says, “This is so wrong,” pull back immediately. Try to steady your pulse and your respiratory functions.

You must apologise. You must offer to resign. You must make promises to become an ascetic monk so that you never hurt another student again. You must do all of this until she leans forward, presses her forehead against yours, and says, “I don’t want to stop.”

It is all right at this moment to lose control, to kiss her the way you’ve wanted to kiss her for ages now, to slide your tongue in her mouth until she moans, and her legs naturally fall open.

Do not be alarmed if you make a sound somewhere between a growl and a moan. Do not be alarmed if you bite her bottom lip, and she bites yours. Do not be alarmed if she whimpers raspily, and the sound of it sends a pulse of blood to your penis making you painfully erect.

Slide your hand up her thigh. Touch her cotton underwear. Feel the wetness there and relish it. Rub circles until your fingers are slick. Slip the fabric to the side and touch her silken heat. Enjoy the feel of her tongue on your neck as she tries to stifle her vocalisations. Drop to your knees and push up the hem of her dress. Rip away her knickers and taste her. Try not to climax. Bury your tongue inside her and lick. Slide your lips up to her clitoris. Dig your palms into her thighs to regain some semblance of control. Spread her wider, as you will be overcome with need, and it will be necessary to see her as open for you as possible.

Lift her feet over your shoulders. Undo your uniform jacket, so that it does not get wet. Hear her cry out your name. Hear her beg. Feel her press herself into your mouth over and over, and when finally, with her fingers pulling your hair, she comes all over your tongue, do not resist the urge to spill your seed, too, moaning and mewling at the sheer loveliness of her.

xi.

Your mother will tell you that it is necessary to take her on a proper date. She will warn you that despite not breaking regulations, it’s important to tread carefully all the same. Listen to what she has to say.

When you see Nyota in a dress and heels, her hair pulled up into some braid-thing, eyes emphasised with dark, smoky makeup, say, “You look beautiful. I have always thought so. From the very first.” You will mean it, and the words will be freeing.

Take illogical pride in the way she flushes. Enjoy a production of _12 Angry Men._ Let her hold your hand. Let her emotions flood through you.

Do not finger her during intermission in the abandoned wing under construction. Do not slip two fingers inside her and pulse them in and out of her until she shakes and begs for your penis. All of this will guarantee you do not see the second portion of what is a very logical and therefore good play.

xii.

The first time she puts her mouth on your penis, it will take everything you have not to spill your come on her lips. This is an excellent moment to practise your control. Watch her lips, her tongues. Watch her eyes. Watch the way she moves slowly down the length until the tip of you is touching the back of her throat. Watch when she does it all over again. Twitch. Palm the back of her head. Draw your hips up into her mouth— _gently_. Hold back as much as you can, until she says, “Fuck my mouth,” then it’s all right to do just that, sliding in and out of her lips, pulling her head down then away. Ejaculate on her lips and neck and breasts, and try not to feel depraved. If she wipes the mess off herself with her own knickers, then becomes to rub her clit with the fabric, consider yourself very lucky.

Watch her until she makes herself come. Then, for the first time, enter her. Stretch her. Go slow. Feel the pulsing heat of her. When she begins to shift her hips up, fuck her, in and out until she stiffens with climax, and you follow closely behind, emptying your seed deep inside of her.

xiii.

There will—as with all stays on foreign planets—be misunderstandings.

In the event that a male begins to verbally harass her with taunts of a sexual nature, please note that she would not appreciate you throwing said male on a pool table and strangling him for 6.4 seconds.

She will say, “I’m not some waif that needs protecting. That was sooooo seriously uncalled for.” 

Later, outside, she will cry. You will not know why. 

She will say, “I just want to be left alone.” 

Ask her, “Are you sure that is wise?”

When she answers, “I’m sure,” do not believe her. Give her space but not too much space. There is no book that tells you the exact amount of space necessary to provide both support and emotional distance, so you will have to estimate based on previous experiences. It will be painful for everyone involved. She will take a seat on a bench in an empty park. Sit next to her on the other side. Let her confess her secrets. Let her explain. Let her explain what she has been through. 

Only thirty minutes later, after she has finished, can you say, “It is unpleasant to see you disrespected and hurt. Is it not logical to prevent wrongdoing when I see it happening, when I have the means to stop it?” 

“Logical, but not necessary. I need someone to stand by my side, not to step in front of me. Do you understand?”

If her makeup is smudged, it is all right to clear it off with your thumb. 

“I understand, but I must admit, this will be very difficult for me. I wish to—keep you safe. You are very valuable.”   
xiv.

Let her name the baby, when that time comes, years and years later. Marvel at the beauty of her face as she sits in the window sill, knitting an afghan for their coming child. Appreciate the fact that she has written a ten-year plan for said child, with charts, graphs, detailed notes—everything colour-coded of course, with age-appropriate activities, schools, extracurricular pass-times, camps, programmes, vacations.

“Not that I’m going to be one of those mothers whose whole life revolves around their kids,” she will say. 

Kiss her pregnant belly often. Rub the skin with cocoa butter. Massage her sore feet and sore shoulders and sore back. Discuss the new assignment you will be taking at a refugee base camp, where Nyota will be base commander, you chief science officer. 

Channel the children of your youth when your son, Solomon, is born. Express awe at his pointed ears, his barely-there eyebrows diagonalled up, and lastly, his curly, cosmos-black hair, softer than anything you’ve ever felt. He truly is a doll, a perfect doll. 

Watch him as he drinks from his mother. 

Watch Nyota say, the expression on her face fiercely proud, “You look like the cat that got the cream.” 

Nod in understanding. Prepare supper. Send pictures and holos to your mother and father. Fall asleep in her arms. Look no further. Know that you have arrived.   
 


End file.
